


So Pull Me Closer

by inspirit11



Category: The Halcyon (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Light Angst, very slight canon divergence from the end of episode 8
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-12 12:48:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10491240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inspirit11/pseuds/inspirit11
Summary: Emma doesn’t like to think of herself as cold but expressing emotions doesn’t come easily to her. It's O'Hara though, so she has to at least try.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Um, this pretty much ignores Betsy's death and assumes she just hurt her head a little and she's gonna be fine, that's why emma's not a complete wreck here ._. title obviously from closer by the chainsmokers and halsey

Emma hates herself for hurting Freddie but she will never be able to forgive herself for letting O’Hara think she doesn’t care for him. He’s carved out a space in her heart with his exhilarating words and his cunning smile and she can’t bring herself to ignore it anymore. She makes sure Freddie is mostly unharmed, gives him a small apologetic smile which he doesn’t return, and walks away to find O’Hara.

The commotion in the street is punctuated by the sounds of the hotel collapsing in on itself. Employees that are able are dutifully seeing to all the shaken guests, doing their best to provide blankets and deliver medical supplies where necessary. Emma finds herself almost perversely fascinated by the spectrum of emotional displays she sees, from people sobbing and screaming violently to numbed faces attached to hauntingly still bodies. O’Hara would have better words to describe them.

The man himself is busy helping people into already packed ambulances. He makes sure to always spare a smile for the children, gently touching their shoulders or helping them adjust their bandages. He’s never mentioned any children of his own – barely mentioned family at all. She wonders what his father must have been like if O’Hara seems to consider compassion a weakness and a liability but uses it anyway, more than people ever give him credit for. Including herself.

She catches his eye over the head of a young girl clutching pitifully at his pant leg. He hands her off to her mother and ambles towards her in a calculated show of casualness. She knows now, how to tell when he’s performing so as to not seem vulnerable.

As soon as he’s close enough, she asks, “May I please speak with you privately?” He nods warily and leads the way to a deserted spot further down the street, at the entrance of an adjacent alleyway, far enough from the bustling crowd to be considered secluded.

“Mr O’Hara,” she says, trying desperately to maintain eye contact, “thank you for protecting me today.”

He can’t quite seem to muster his usual geniality and simply shakes his head. “Wasn’t anything I did, Miss Garland. Just luck this time.”

“You saved me,” she insists, wishing she didn’t sound like a petulant child. “In fact you’ve been saving me for a while.”

Emma doesn’t like to think of herself as cold but expressing emotions doesn’t come easily to her. She’s learned to keep her face blank, keep her feelings hidden because that is the job – to be politely impersonal, professional above everything else. But it’s O’Hara, so she has to at least try.

“I had actually thought about the future before you asked me. I’ve always wanted to travel. See what’s beyond London. But it was just a fantasy, something to think about while I was welcoming guests or cleaning rooms, not a possibility.” She’s stepped forward without meaning to so that she’s looking up at him. He seems a little shocked. “When you asked me to go with you to America, I was furious because – because you were offering me what I’d dreamed about since I was a little girl and I couldn’t take it.”

“I never meant to hurt you,” he mumbles, looking to the side, absently reaching for his cigarettes like he does when he’s stressed. She grabs his hand with both of her own and holds it tightly. He flinches. “Emma?”

“I’m always going to care about Freddie. He’s family.” His face creases in pain and it takes effort not to reach out with her hands and soothe him – she’s not quite that forward yet. “But I care for you like I’ve never cared for anyone. I always want to know what you have to say, how you feel. Sometimes I look at the guests and I hear your voice in my head describing them and I have to stop myself from grinning before anyone can see.” He snorts in laughter, eyes lighting up with mirth, and affection spreads through her chest like the best kind of pain. Her home has been damaged, perhaps irrevocably, and she knows she should be devastated right now but instead she’s smiling with Mr O’Hara, the man she can’t stop thinking about no matter how hard she tries.

“I liked what we had. I like you. I hope that’s still alright,” she says, hoping her voice doesn’t betray her nervousness.

“Oh, Emma,” he groans, lurching forward to wrap her up in a tight hug, one that’s rather inappropriate for such a public setting but one she nevertheless delightedly returns. “That’s the best thing I’ve heard in a really long time.” There’s a definite chill in the air but in this moment, she can’t feel it.

“After the war,” she says, the sound muffled into his shoulder, “I want to go to Illinois with you. Then New York, then Boston, then Washington DC. It’ll be a very extensive itinerary.” She hasn’t thought about how she’s going to get her father to agree to this but she’ll find a way.

“There ain’t a man in the whole damn world who could say no to an offer like that,” he whispers. He steps back, cups her face in his hands and runs his thumb along her cheek. The intensity in his eyes is a little frightening but she can’t say she dislikes it. Emma’s made it a point not to lie to herself. She knows that part of why she’s so passionate about volunteering is because every time she goes outside when the planes are overhead, alongside the debilitating terror is a tiny little thrill from the danger, from the unpredictability and the stakes. She’s not scared of O’Hara – even at the hospital with Stan, when he was seething with rage, she knew he wouldn’t hurt her – but she’s definitely excited by him. He makes every moment feel more vivid, more precious.

She gathers up the rest of her courage for the night and leans in to kiss him. Luckily he gets the message before she has to get on her toes and bends down to meet her half way, fingers still tenderly framing her face. There’s rubble strewn across the street and fires are still burning, the damaged Halcyon looks like a gash in the landscape, it’s now another battle scar for London. She has to check on her father and Betsy and Sonny and Peggy and all the others. They have to get back and help but Emma lets them have this one little moment where the pain of the war can’t reach them – she knows now, the value of seizing every special second before it’s all wiped away. He’s smiling into her mouth, trailing his hands down her neck to rest lightly on her shoulders.

“I’m gonna make sure you don’t regret this,” he says, voice ragged and warm and enthralling like it always is.

“Well neither of us is a fan of regret so I should hope so, Mr O’Hara.”

“Emma,” he groans again, “I’ve already apologized for thinking you had no sense of humour.” She loves the fondness in his exasperation, the way he’s trying not to smile but he can’t quite keep the corners of his mouth from turning up. “And its _Joe_ to you. Like you said before.”

“Alright. Joe,” she says, just to see his eyes light up again. She feels ready to face the coming day.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> just something i had to get out of my system because these two are the cutest. plz let me know about any mistakes/concrit! feel free to come talk to me on tumblr at i-need-a-pilot-tho.tumblr.com


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